


Where The Sea Meets The Sky

by Tilltheendwilliwrite



Category: Aquaman (2018), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Eventual Smut, F/M, Romance, тэг заменён на Don't copy to another site
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-15
Updated: 2019-08-27
Packaged: 2020-05-07 06:59:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19204267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tilltheendwilliwrite/pseuds/Tilltheendwilliwrite
Summary: For years they’ve been hearing the whispers of a man who ruled the deep. A man who saved those they couldn’t hope to reach in time. There were rumbles of Atlantis, of people who lived below the surface, of a race no one had ever seen, until the day the ocean rebelled and spat years of pollution up on the shores.When nothing more came of it, when the threat appeared to pass without Avenger assistance, they knew the rumours had to be true. The search for the mystery man intensified, but he remained elusive.Then they stumbled upon a Hydra base like no other. The artifacts were unmistakable. What they were trying to find was another question. The language was not one they could read, but what they could decipher from Hydra’s files, they pertained to a weapon of enormous power.They needed help, and only one man could lead them to where the sea meets the sky.





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: canon typical violence

* * *

 

The biting cold wind snuck through with her when Natasha Romanoff pushed open the door to the bar that smelled of fish and cheap booze. She may have been born in the wilds of Russia, but her blood had warmed substantially since defecting, and not even the thick down jacket was enough to keep out the chill winter air in this small Icelandic village.

Every eye turned her way when the door shut behind her. All conversation stopped.

She didn't let it bother her. That sort of attention never did. She pushed back her hood, allowing the cascade of red ringlets to fall around her face and walked without hurry to the bar.

The man across the narrow expanse of wood polished a glass while staring at her with unabashed curiosity and suspicion. “Get ég aðstoðað þig?”

Natasha only smiled and cocked her head. “English?”

His lip curled into a sneer. “You are a long way from tourist route.”

“I’m looking for someone.” She unzipped her coat enough to reveal the heavy swell of her cleavage framed by green cashmere when she leaned onto the bar. “Maybe you can help me?”

The scruffy, middle-aged man glanced at her chest but continued to polish the glass. He set it on a stack of others, then picked up a shot glass and a bottle of half decent vodka. “You drink. Maybe you find what you seek.”

He set the shot in front of her and Natasha saluted him with it before slamming it back. “I’d be happy to,” she smiled, set the glass on the bar, and motioned for him to hit her again. Vodka was in her blood, no different than water. It would take buckets of it even to make her buzzed at this stage. “Tatiana Sokolova,” she purred her introduction.

“Ah, Russian.” A smirk twitched his lips. “Yes. You drink.”

***

“Net!” Natasha laughed when her opponent slid from his chair under the table. “I think you lose my friend!” The rest of the bar roared with laughter, goading and teasing the man stumbling away from the table.

“How someone so small can drink so much is beyond me,” the bartender, Olric claimed as he shook the third empty bottle of vodka.

“I am Russian,” she shrugged in the way of an answer.

“Maybe you need a bigger challenge.”

Deep voice. Gravel. Smoke and whiskey aged to perfection. It sent a thrill along her spine that warmed in her belly.

Natasha looked up at the man with the wild sea curls, dark like the waves beyond the shore but with streaks like the sun’s reflection on the water. A coat of seal skin and collar of wool didn’t seem warm enough for the weather outside, but then he wasn’t all he appeared to be either.

He was better looking than she’d expected. A little scruffy, but his eyes were beautiful. A copper dusted gold ringed in black. She’d never seen eyes quite like his before.

She smiled invitingly and kicked out the stool across from her. “If you think you can keep up.”

He threw back the edges of his coat and sat as Olric returned with a new bottle and fresh shot glass, patted the man on the shoulder and walked away.

They'd lost their audience.

“You sure you want to do this? You’re already three bottles in," the newcomer asked.

Nat poured the first round and lifted her glass, denying him an answer. “To new friends.”

He arched a dark brow, but his mouth quirked into a smile. “We shall see.” They clinked glasses and drank, his eyes intense, focused on her. “Want to tell me why you’re here?”

“Perhaps I’m on holiday?” she smiled.

“Hm, doubtful.” He poured the second shot. “Especially as you’ve been waiting for me.”

“You think so? How conceded of you.” Nat hummed happily at the mild burn from the vodka.

“Lady, don’t try and bullshit me. You piqued my curiosity or I wouldn’t be here at all. What do you want?”

Natasha arched a brow. “So impatient, Mr. Curry. I work for a private organization that sent me here for two reasons.”

“How do you know who I am?” he asked, soft and deadly.

It gave Nat another little thrill. She liked them big and growly. Or short and growly. Or soft and growly. Okay, maybe she did have a type. “As I said, I work for a private organization. They are quite well funded.”

He scoffed in disdain. “Some ocean polluting corporation no doubt.”

“No, I can assure you it doesn’t do that,” she smirked. Stark would be incredibly offended by such a statement with how hard he was working to find a solution to the world’s waste problems.

“I’ll believe it when I see it.” He crossed his arms on the table. “Why are you here?”

“I was sent with an invitation if you’re so inclined to visit.”

“I’m not.”

She tilted her head, already aware he would be a hard sell. They always were. “You don’t even know who I work for.”

“Don’t care. I’m not interested.” He poured another round of shots. “What was the second thing?”

Natasha leaned closer, lifting the glass as she said quietly, “We’re not the only people who know of you, and what you can do. There are others, and they could be coming for you.”

A cocky grin spread across his lips. “And they will regret it if they try.”

“It may not be so simple.” Nat drank the last shot and pushed to her feet. “They are very determined.”

“So am I.” He unfolded from his seat, dwarfing her by more than twelve inches. Then he shook his head, taking in her rock-solid stance. “Where did you put it all?”

She smiled and held out a business card that had only a phone number on it. “As you are disinclined to join us, I'm under no obligation to tell you. Call me if you change your mind.”

He pocketed it, and Nat was watching a flirtatious smile crawl over his lips when the door burst open. She swept her leg through Curry’s, sending him crashing to the floor, and fired three rounds at the Hydra goons crashing the party.

She bellowed, “Everyone down!” as gunfire erupted all around the rickety building, and dropped over Curry, protecting him with her body.

“Why is it always the redheads that bring trouble?” he grumbled, rolling on top of her.

“What the hell are you doing?” Natasha asked, dragging at him until she’d flipped him back to his back.

“Lady, I’m basically bulletproof. Pretty sure you’re not.” Once again he flipped her to the floor, his thigh now wedged firmly between hers. “Before I go out there and deal with this, who the hell are you?”

“Natasha Romanoff.”

He arched a brow. “The Black Widow?” His eyes widened. “You’re here on behalf of the Avengers?”

“I was. Too bad you declined. Now, Hydra out there won’t take no for an answer.” It took a great deal of effort for her to reverse their positions a third time, but she managed, mostly because she lightly kneed him in the balls. “Friday, clear us a path.”

 _Incoming in sixty seconds,_ the AI said in her ear.

When he tried to heave her off, Natasha grabbed a fistful of his hair and used it to pin him to the floor.

“Hair pulling? Really?” he grumbled. “You’re such a girl.”

“Is that supposed to be an insult? Stay down. I have help coming. Then we can get out of here.”

“I’m not going with you.”

She glared down at him. “You can’t stay here.”

“It’s easy enough to get in the ocean and swim away,” he quipped.

Nat rolled her eyes. “I had such high hopes you’d be smarter than the other men in my life.”

“What the hell does that mean?” Arthur snapped.

“It means,” she snarled, her face barely an inch from his, “if they are shooting up this bar rather than making entry, they are trying to make you run for the safety that is your ocean. Which means your ocean is no longer safe!”

He blinked at her for a moment before giving a sharp nod. “Makes sense.”

The rapid fire of the gun on the quinjet had Natasha leaping to her feet. She didn’t worry about leaving her jacket behind, just dragged at the arm of the big man and made for the door. She leapt the three bodies and ran hard for the back of the jet, Arthur a step behind, through the fury of blinding white snow whipping around them.

More gunfire exploded, but all Nat could focus on was the feel of strong arms sweeping her off her feet when Curry jumped the remaining distance. He set her down as the ramp closed and quickly grabbed for the rail overhead when Friday took them out of range of the gunfire.

“I was fine on my own.” Nat stormed toward the cockpit rather than examine the feelings tripping inside her.

“Tell that to the six bullet holes in my jacket,” Curry grumbled.

She spun on her heel to look, and sure enough, he had the coat off and was examining it in the light. There were six holes, all dead center of his back. “Are you hit?”

He dropped the coat and arched a brow before turning around and drawing up the cream coloured cable knit sweater he wore, revealing flawless skin and a serious amount of ink.

“Nice tats.”

The grin he sent her made his eyes glow. “Is that all you like?”

“Please,” she snorted. “I work with super soldiers and gods. I see that every day.” She walked away to slide into the pilot seat, smirking a little at making him pout. “Where am I dropping you?”

“Huh?”

She took the jet off autopilot. “You declined our invitation. I can leave you on any coastline you like." A sly grin curled her lips. "Or just drop you in the middle of it if you prefer." 

He came up and loomed over her. “You never said it was the Avengers who’d come calling.”

“Well, if someone hadn’t been so dismissive.” She glanced pointedly up at him and then at the opposite seat.

He stayed right where he was, a shit eating grin on his face. “Someone could have been more forthcoming.”

“Someone could sit his ass down before my fist finds his nuts.”

“Damn, sweetheart.” He dropped into the opposite chair, sprawled really, and continued to smirk at her. “So, you’re the Widow, huh? I’ve heard stories.”

She cast him a demure smile. “All lies I assure you.”

“Uh, huh.” He glanced out the window. “What about the village?”

“Hydra wants you. Now that you’re gone, they’ll leave.”

“You sure?”

“Not positive, but it’s they’re typical MO.” A wave of dizziness washed over her, and Natasha quickly punched the autopilot setting for the Avengers compound. When she pushed to her feet, the world spun.

“Woah! You feeling okay?” Arthur asked, grabbing for her.

“Vodka,” she murmured, lurching away from him toward the back of the jet where, after slamming the door, she purged much of what she’d drank in the toilet. Twenty minutes later, she washed her face, rinsed her mouth, and headed back into the main cabin where a large, slightly salty smelling male, stared at her with big golden eyes.

“So, that’s how you do it?” His grin was smug.

She rolled her eyes. “Not usually, no. Vodka has had little effect on me since I was sixteen. I was taught alcohol tolerance young. One couldn’t be drunk and a successful assassin. But I went on a mission three weeks ago, came back with a cold. Thought I was over it. Apparently not.” She dropped into the pilot seat and leaned her head back. “Looks like you’ll be coming with me after all. Autopilot is the best I can do.”

“I’ll survive. Always wanted to meet Thor.”

Natasha smiled but didn’t open her eyes. “He’s due back from Asgard soon, so the timing is right.”

His breath whispered over her ear. “Are you always this trusting?”

Natasha punched him in the face on instinct, reacting with his close proximity, sending him reeling back into the opposite seat. “Don’t ever do that again.”

“Ow!” He held his nose, eyes wide in shock. “That hurt!”

She arched a brow in amusement. “I train with super soldiers. Punching you is child’s play.”

He wiggled his nose around, eyes crossed as he watched it. Natasha bit her cheek and closed her eyes a second time to keep from laughing at him. “And I know enough about you, Mr. Curry to endorse your invitation to the Avengers, but trust is earned.”

“Fair enough.”

They sat in silence for a few more minutes before Natasha felt compelled to ask, “What did you mean redheads always bring trouble?” He didn’t answer right off, but she was patient when she needed to be.

“Mera, my ex, she’s a redhead. When we first met, she brought trouble with her, too.”

“Sounds like my kind of girl,” Nat purred.

“You can have her,” he growled, causing her to crack open her eyes when Arthur stomped to the back of the quinjet.

Evidently, that was a sore subject. Natasha made a mental note not to poke that particular wound, and let herself drift.

Friday would look after them and wake her if she was needed. And if the big man brooding in the back of the jet tried anything, the Widow's Bite tucked down the side of her seat would find a home in his balls.

***

An hour later, she woke to the feeling of someone staring. Nat turned her head before opening her eyes. "May I help you?"

Arthur was back to being sprawled in the copilot seat. A smirk curled his lips. His pushed up sleeves showed off more of that dark ink. "You make cute little sounds when you sleep."

"So I've been told." Clint teased her about it on the regular.

A little of the amusement waned from his face, bringing back his scowl. "Boyfriend?"

Natasha crossed her legs and leaned on the arm of her seat. This she knew. This was familiar territory. A pink flush filled her cheeks. A smile flirted with her lips. She looked down so her lashes would fan out and the fall of red curls could slide off her shoulder to play over the exposed skin of her chest.

When she looked up, it was slowly, her tongue darting out to moisten her lips. "Something to that effect. Clint often spends the night in my bed."

"But he's not your boyfriend?" Arthur's eyes were, surprisingly, on her face not the swell of prominent cleavage.

"He's male and my friend. My best friend. There is no one I love more." Then she cocked her head and unleashed her Widow's smile; the one that drew them all in. "Have you a thing for redheads, Mr. Curry?"

He leaned closer, his smirk returning. "I just like women."

Natasha reached out and lightly caressed his cheek, her nails skimming through his beard. It was shockingly soft for someone who spent much of his life in the ocean. "You should have more discerning taste." Her fingers traced back to tangle in his hair and draw him closer, both now leaning over the arms of their seats. When they were nose to nose, she smiled again, sharp and deadly. "I'm no ordinary woman."

He leaned closer, perched precariously on the edge of his seat. "I can tell."

"Good. Lesson number one, Mr. Curry," she purred, lips almost brushing his. "Never trust a spider when she invites you to her web." Nat pressed the button on his seat that dropped the armrest. She let go of his hair and jerked out of the way when he plummeted face first into the space between them.

He caught himself on his hands, but it was the bark of deep laughter that made her smirk. "That was cruel," he chuckled, sliding to the floor so he could get his legs beneath him. He crouched at her side, elbows propped on her armrest.

"You deserved it. You're cute, Curry but I've seen better."

"Rude," he scoffed. "I'm ruggedly handsome."

Nat surprised herself when the laugh peeled from her. It was rare she found herself so at ease with someone. "You'd best sit your ruggedly handsome self down. We're approaching the compound."

He didn't, just rose to stand over her again, causing the hair on her neck to rise. "So that's it, huh?"

"It's home." She shifted with unease. "Arthur?" He glanced at her, eyes wide in surprise when she used his first name. "Please, sit down."

He studied her for a moment before returning to his chair, finding the button that allowed the armrest to come back up. "Is it everyone or just me you don't like having at your back?"

She focused on readying the jet to land. "Almost everyone."

"This Clint can play shadow?"

She shot him a glare. "Clint has saved my life more times than I can ever repay. I trust him implicitly."

"And your other Avengers?"

"Varies from day to day," she murmured, returning to her task. "Friday, let them know we're on approach, and I have a guest with me."

"Yes, ma'am."

Arthur startled. "That's… new."

"She's Stark's AI. Friday runs things," Natasha murmured taking the jet in hand. Hadn't he wondered when she said they would have help, but no one else was aboard?

"It is nice to meet you, Mr. Curry."

"Likewise?" He sounded unsure.

Nat's lip twitched.

She focused on landing, unsnapped her belt, and stood to stretch. The quiet purr of pleasure from the man beside her had her glancing at him. "See something you like?"

He dwarfed his seat, swivelled as it was, one booted foot resting on his opposite thigh. No man should be that gorgeous. No man should be able to look at her with such beautiful, strange eyes and make her tingle.

Natasha didn't do tingles.

"You remind me of kelp."

Well, that was a new one. "Really?" she smirked.

"Long and lean and thin. Fluid. Graceful. But there's a core of strength in you, isn't there, Natasha? Something dangerous. Would you tangle me up and drag me to the depths if I was careless?"

She arched a brow and brushed past his boots. "Mr. Curry. You have no idea."

Heavy footsteps followed. A hand slid around her waist when she stopped at the ramp. "Are you always so prickly?"

She turned into him, her smile sweet, and ran her hands down the soft wool covering his chest. It was a nice chest. "I'm not a pineapple, Curry. I'm all spider, and my bite is always deadly." Again she swept his feet out from under him, putting him on his ass before punching the button for the ramp and stalking away.

He just sat there grinning after her, one knee bent and propped on his elbows.

"Making friends, Red?" Tony asked.

She threw him a smile. "You know what a team player I can be, Stark."

Steve, of course, arched a bemused brow. "He do something you didn't like?"

"Just establishing my dominance." She sent him a smirk and a wink while dragging her palm over his chest in the way that made Steve blush before bypassing him for Clint.

"The quinjet has bullet holes. I take it you had fun?" the archer smirked.

She threw him a genuine smile and wrapped her arm around his waist. "You have no idea how much."

"You can tell me while you shower."

The weight of the eyes on her grew sharper, but Nat only grinned and patted Clint's ass. "Sure thing, honey."

Clint arched a brow but didn't say anything, too used to her ways to question something openly.

Flirty Fishman could chew on that for a while.

Even when the eyes on her made her tingle, Natasha didn't look back.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Language

* * *

 

Arthur's first thought upon seeing Natasha was that she had hair like a hellion and eyes like the sea, fluid and flashing, hiding the danger lurking in their green depths. 

The part of him that was all Atlantean gave a rumble of appreciation, liking that hint of danger, but he was a randy beast. The part that was human knew she was trouble with a capital T, but even he couldn't stay away from her and had happily taken the seat across from her to see just what chaos the firebrand was bringing to his life.

Now, watching her walk off with the wiry blond, tight ass swaying in pants that looked painted on, he knew she was trouble he would be chasing. Then she'd patted the guy's ass, the man who would be joining her in the shower, and Arthur clenched his teeth. 

They were a little sharper than they used to be. Ever since claiming Atlan's trident and becoming King, he'd discovered he was a little more animal than before. 

Maybe it was the trident. Maybe it was being constantly connected to the creatures of the deep. He didn't know why or how it happened; all he knew was there was a portion of him that was far more _beast_ than human now. 

It was that part of him that had decided they needed a taste of the redheaded sauntering away. 

He lounged on his elbows, knee swaying, not at all minding she'd put him on his ass twice. A strong woman was something to be celebrated. 

His mother was like that. Atlanna would probably find it amusing Natasha had dropped him damn near on his face. 

"Mr. Curry?" 

He tore his eyes from Natasha's ass and focused on the blue-eyed blond. "Captain," he nodded, hauling himself off the floor. "That's quite the stick of dynamite you sent for me."

"She's a spitfire," the man in the rose-tinted glasses snickered.

"Mr. Stark." Arthur headed down the ramp and shook the offered hand. "I'd like to thank you for what you're doing for the world's pollution problem. Your advancements in clean energy and waste reduction are impressive."

"Well," Stark grinned, "you do know how to stroke a man's ego."

Arthur chuckled. "It's not stroking when it's the truth."

"After centuries of garbage washed up on our shores, it became an imperative."

He turned to face the Captain and accepted the hand held out. It squeezed tight, making Arthur grin and tighten his in response. "That was my half brother Orm's doing. Though I do not agree with his methods, I hope you can appreciate what my people have been forced to live with for generations."

"Your people?" Rogers asked.

Arthur chuckled. "Maybe we should start with what you know about me and why I'm here. Then I can fill in the blanks."

"Sounds fair," Rogers nodded.

"And call me Arthur." He slapped Steve on the back, sending the super soldier stumbling forward. "I'm a fan, Captain. What you and your team accomplished in Sokovia was something else."

"It was both a victory and a defeat. Many people lost their lives unnecessarily." He shot Stark a look, one that made the man flinch.

"Sometimes that is the way of things," Arthur murmured. "It was so when I battled Orm, Captain."

"Steve is fine. What battle?"

"A battle for all the oceans. For sea and land dweller alike, fought in the heart of the deep. It does not surprise me you know nothing of it."

"I think we have much to discuss and little time to do it in." Stark headed for the building, Arthur followed, while Steve brought up the rear. "We know you're the son of Thomas Curry, the lighthouse keeper in Amnesty Bay, Massachusetts, and that he is as human as I am. We know you've been instrumental in rescuing people we had no hope of getting to and are grateful. And we know you're a lot more than you seem. There are bits and pieces of video from your time in Sicily as well as what the NSA have."

They entered the compound, all glass and steel, and followed winding corridors as Stark talked. "Still feel bad for all the damage, though Black Manta started it," Arthur murmured.

"And the woman with you?" Steve asked. 

"Mera. A princess of Atlantis," was all he was willing to say.

They walked into a large room where Arthur came to a dead stop. "Holy fuck!"

"And this is why you're here," Stark said, striding further into the room.

"On our last mission, we came upon a Hydra base unlike anything we'd ever seen. Stark was able to download all the Intel, and we brought back the rest of the artifacts to keep them out of Hydra's hands."

Arthur stalked into the room, growing angrier by the minute. He approached one of the tables and picked up a statue to hold gently in his hands.

"We couldn't figure out why this stuff is so well preserved," Stark said, motioning to scrolls pressed between panes of glass. "It's ancient, but doesn't look like it's been underwater for centuries."

"That's because it hasn't." He set the statue down gently. "These things are all from the Kingdom of the Deserters located beneath the Sahara."

"That would explain the sand." 

The new speaker, a man who was not a man with silver and red skin and a gleaming yellow gem in his forehead, stood in the doorway.

"Arthur meet Vision. He helped us beat Ultron," Steve explained. 

Sort of explained. He said nothing about where the… man… hailed from. "Nice to meet you." 

"And you, Arthur Curry." The male floated closer and phased through the tables. "I have studied all the available data on you and am curious. What are you?"

"Vis," purred an accent-laden feminine voice from behind him. "Your question may be construed as rude," she chastised gently. "Vision is young and not yet aware of all the nuances of human speech," she apologized, stepping out from behind the other man.

"Young?" Arthur frowned.

"Long story. We'll explain later, but first is this." Stark threw a holographic file up over the table. "Can you read that?"

"Most of it." He peered at the letters, making his way through Atlantean so old some of the wording took time to unscramble. "It looks like a prophecy."

"Prophecy? About what?"

Arthur glanced at Rogers through the screen. The man had a hard shell but would make a shit poker player. "Why don't you tell me."

The super soldier's crossed arms relaxed, and a bit of a smile appeared. "All we could piece together was something about where the sea meets the sky. Hydra decrypted it that far."

"You're not wrong. I think I've got it down, but to be sure it would be better to have my mother look it over," Arthur said, sitting back against the edge of a table and resting a booted foot on his thigh.

"Mother?" Vision asked.

Arthur smirked a wide grin. "My father is a lighthouse keeper; my mother is a queen. Queen Atlanna."

"What does that make you?" Stark asked.

"I wield the trident of Atlan. That makes me King."

"Is this another Mjolnir thing? He who is worthy can wield the power of Thor?" Steve asked.

"Not quite," Arthur chuckled. "Only the true Heir of Atlan can use his trident."

"And that's you?" 

He smiled at the young woman. "Apparently."

"This is Wanda Maximoff," Steve introduced.

"Ma'am," Arthur nodded. "Are all the lady Avengers redheads?"

She laughed softly and shook her head. "No. Only two so far."

Arthur chuckled, liking her instantly. She had old eyes for one so young, and pain buried beneath her smile. Her eyes widened before she turned away and caused the strange silver man to move to her side.

"This the mission the firecracker got sick on?" Arthur asked, changing the subject.

"How did you know Nat was sick?" Steve asked.

"She spent twenty minutes throwing up three bottles of vodka shortly after we left Iceland and slept most of the way here."

Stark and Roger's both inhaled sharply and shared a look. 

"She doesn't throw up vodka. Ever," Stark murmured.

"I'll text Clint. He can get medical to check her out. You think it's still from before?" Steve asked, pulling out his phone.

"If she has a relapse," Wanda said, "it could go badly."

"Relapse?" Arthur asked.

***

Clint's phone pinged while Nat was washing her hair. 

"What is it?" she asked.

"The fuck, Natasha! Did you get sick on the way home?"

She refused to flinch. "A little dizzy and nauseous. I threw up, took a nap, and feel fine now."

"Christ, Nat! We need to have medical examine you. You could be having a relapse!"

She rolled her eyes. "It's not a relapse. I freely admit I may have overdone it on the vodka. I'm fine, Clint. Stop being a mother hen."

The door to her steamy shower opened. "Don't brush me off! You almost died!"

"But I didn't," she said, ignoring him as she rinsed her hair then added conditioner. 

"But you could have!"

"And I could catch a bullet tomorrow and permanently retire. This isn't news, Clint. Hell, I went after Curry alone and got shot at, but you're more concerned because I threw up a few bottles of vodka? Come on!"

Clint muttered something rude in the language he'd learned as a Carney.

"Now, now. Name calling isn't nice," she smirked, casting a glance at him.

Once long ago they'd been lovers for a short time, but they discovered they were better suited as friends and partners than lovers. That didn't mean he wasn't familiar with her body, and Nat felt no shame when the steam leached out the door and revealed it to him. 

His gaze swept over her, but all she found when his eyes returned to hers was concern. "You're still too damn thin. I knew you shouldn't have gone on your own."

"Clint, I love you but get out. I'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself and have been doing so for a very long time."

He grumbled something rude and shut the door. "So what do you think of Curry?"

"Arrogant. Bullheaded. Male."

He snickered. "That could describe any of us."

"Exactly."

"Rude!" he huffed. 

"He's highly intelligent, though he doesn't always show it. Knows how to handle himself in a fight. He's fast, strong, agile. I think there is a lot more to him than we know. He's wary of people, but cares for those he claims his."

"How do you know?"

She turned off the shower and rang out her hair before catching the fluffy black towel he tossed over the door. "He was worried about the villagers."

"Hm. Well, we already knew he helped them out when the winters are rough."

"True, but this was different. They knew him. Respected him. Even protected him by trying to distract me while he watched from a backroom."

"Hm."

She walked out of the shower with her towel wrapped around her. "He was worried about me, and never once stared at my cleavage."

Clint's eyebrows shot into his hairline. "Seriously!"

Nat chuckled and wrapped a towel around her hair. "Even when I dumped him on his face in the jet."

Clint barked a laugh. "Is he gay? How is he not interested?"

"Oh, he's interested. Very. But I'm not."

"Yes, you are."

She shot him a glare. "Not."

"Nat, if you weren't interested you wouldn't play with him. You'd make it clear he had no chance and remain coolly detached. But you dump him on his face, drop him on his ass, flirt with me in front of him? Lucy, you've got some 'splainin' to do!" He shook his finger at her.

Nat snapped her teeth at it. "He's brutish and smart assed, and all hairy and growly."

"So he's your type," Clint nodded.

"Barton get out!"

He blew her a kiss and walked into her bedroom where he flopped on the middle of her bed. "You like him."

"I do not."

"Methinks she doth protest too much."

"I will shoot you, Clint," she grumbled. 

"Wouldn't be the first time."

She rolled her eyes and stomped into her closet where she partially shut the door. "I don't like him beyond anything but professional courtesy."

"Uh huh."

"He smells like fish."

"Sure."

"And he's got all that hair." She didn't want to think about all that hair or how soft it was.

"Yup."

"And he's covered in tattoos."

"You like tattoos."

Yes, she did, dammit. "He's full of himself."

"Aren't we all?"

She yanked her underwear up her legs. "You certainly are," she muttered, grabbing a pair of jeans.

"Why so defensive?" he snickered.

She rolled her eyes as she did up her bra and snagged a t-shirt from a shelf. "I'm not. You're being ridiculous and annoying me," she huffed, dropping the towel from her hair before pulling on the shirt. If it happened to be one of Clint's that was a graphic design of him as Hawkeye, so much the better. Well worn and two sizes too big, she tied a knot at the back and walked out barefoot.

"Hey, that's mine!" Clint barked.

"Not anymore." She went for socks and a pair of short heeled boots before returning to the bathroom. "Besides, you have like twelve of the same shirt."

"I _had_ three. Now I only have two because someone is a thief."

She smirked at him as she touched up her makeup and ran some product through her hair. "Takes one to know one, _moy malen'kiy yastreb_ ," she purred.

"I'm not little," he pouted.

"But you are my hawk," she teased, striding from the bath to the bed where she dropped down beside him and pecked him a kiss. 

"So," he smirked, mood lifting, "you gonna torment Curry or just fuck his brains out."

She rolled her eyes and smacked his cheek. "Neither. And you can keep your opinion to yourself."

"Whatever you say, Red."

She knew he was placating her but ignored it. Then, because she was feeling a chill, returned to her closet where a zip-up hoodie stolen from Steve was added to her ensemble. A glance in the mirror said she looked more like Stark than usual, but she was too tired to care.

"Hey, babe?" Clint murmured, a frown evident in his voice.

"Yeah?"

"Please go to medical. Let them run a scan at least. You're still not feeling the best, are you?"

Nat sighed but ultimately nodded. "I'm just tired." But the worry on Clint's face wouldn't leave until someone cleared her. Again.

His arms wrapped around her from behind. "We almost lost you, Nat. I don't ever want to go through that again. And they still don't really know what happened. One minute you're dying, the next, you're fine."

"I know, Clint. I know." She still dreamed the same fever dreams, not that she'd tell anyone. "Let's go."

She led the way while Clint rapid fired a text, likely to the two biggest worriers on the team.

***

"Clint convinced her to get checked out."

Stark sounded relieved, which only made Arthur more concerned. "How sick was she?"

"At one point we didn't think she'd make it. Then it turned around, practically overnight." Stark shrugged. "They still haven't figured out why."

"Hm." He went back to looking over all the stuff on display. "She shouldn't have been out there alone."

"One thing you'll learn about Nat - should you stick around - she does what she wants," Steve chuckled. "Trying to tell her she couldn't go alone? That would be like trying to hold back the ocean."

"That's good for me as I can literally hold back the ocean." They all stared at him, but Arthur only shrugged.

"Okay then," Stark said, rubbing his hands together. "Can you tell us what that says?" 

Arthur glanced again at the prophecy. "I'd rather not."

"Why?" Wanda asked.

"Because what lies at the end of that journey isn't something I want falling into the wrong hands."

"So it is a weapon," Steve sighed. "Better us than Hydra."

"Better neither, actually. Look," Arthur waved his hands when they started to protest, "Atlan's power was so great when it got away from him, as power always does, it sank all of Atlantis into the sea. Thankfully it also changed the biology of the people enough to allow them to live beneath the surface, but it took centuries to recover from what was done. That," he pointed at the screen, "if I'm interpreting the document correctly - which I'm not even sure I am - is something so dangerous Atlan locked it away. You don't want to mess with it!"

"We don't have a choice," the redhead murmured. "If Hydra and Strucker are after it, we must stop them and destroy what is hidden. They cannot be allowed to get their hands on it."

"They won't." 

"How do you know?" Vision asked.

Arthur smirked. "Because the only thing that can open the way is Atlan's Trident."

"And where's that?" 

"On its way." While Natasha slept, he'd sent a message to his mother. She was already headed here with his trident.

"Is she coming from Maine? Because we can send a jet-"

"Sir? There is a vehicle coming up the drive. A check of the registration indicates it was reported stolen almost one hour ago," the female voice from the jet relayed.

"That will be my mom," Arthur grinned.

"Is stealing a car something she does often?" Steve asked.

"Only when she needs to get across the land." He pushed to his feet and headed for the door. "Besides, she puts them back." Usually.

"How the hell did she get here so fast?" Stark wondered. 

Arthur shrugged. "Waterways."

"Impressive. By my calculations, she would still need to swim at a high rate of speed that should be impossible for a human to maintain."

Arthur smirked at Vision. "Not human. Not a problem."

"Fascinating."

He laughed at the robot man and retraced his steps to meet Atlanna at the front doors. The truck pulled up with a squeal of tires as she braked hard, having been driving fast. 

The tinted window rolled down to reveal her impressive face, a smile curling her lips. "Need a lift?"

The casual question was her way of inquiring if they needed to fight their way out of the situation, the gold of his trident gleaming over her lap. 

He reached through the window and pulled it from within the cab before opening her door. "Not this time. Though I could use your help with something else, come meet the Avengers."

She wore Atlantean clothing, the body suit of white scales and streamlined fabric that allowed her to cut through the water with ease. Her platinum hair was braided and swung with pearls and shells, and she shimmered, glowing like the queen she was. 

And with the happiness that came from being back with his father.

When he turned around, Arthur chuckled at the four gaping mouths. "My mother, Queen Atlanna of the Kingdom of the Atlanteans."

"Former queen, Arthur. I'm a simple lighthouse keeper's wife now." She patted his chest and stepped forward, towering over Wanda and Stark, more in keeping with Steve and Vision in height. "It is a pleasure to meet you, though I'm only familiar with two of your faces. I'm very impressed with what the Avengers have accomplished in recent years, though I'm only now catching up."

"Catching up?" Steve asked, the first to shake loose his surprise.

"I spent several years…" Atlanna glanced back at Arthur, "lost at sea."

Vision raised his hand. "I have many questions."

Atlanna laughed while Arthur chuckled. "I shall do my best to answer them all," she smiled.

Arthur reached into the truck and pulled out a water-tight travel tube. "Mom? You wanna change first?"

"If I might," she said, appearing to charm them all before focusing on Wanda. She froze, likely seeing the same thing he had, then lifted a long finger hand to the young woman's cheek. "Such ancient eyes for someone so young," Atlanna murmured. 

"Queen Atlanna, why don't I show you to a room you can use while here. And we'll have someone return the truck," Stark smirked, offering his arm. 

She smiled at him and accepted, gently stroking Wanda's pale face before taking Stark's arm. "If you can convey my apologies to the owner, I would be grateful. I thought it best to make the trip in the fastest way possible, uncertain if Arthur would need his trident sooner rather than later."

As she and Stark walked inside with Vision and Wanda dogging her heels, Arthur could only grin. 

"She would have fought her way through us if you'd indicated it, wouldn't she?" Steve asked.

"Yup." Arthur shot him a grin. "And you would have regretted it. I can't wait till she meets Natasha!" He slapped a hand to Steve's shoulder, tightened his grip on the gleaming golden trident, and headed inside with what he hoped would be a new group of friends. 

With his mother charming their path, things would definitely go smoother.

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: language, I make this up as I go aka - writer's prerogative to make up background information.

* * *

 

Nat sauntered into the conference room following the drone of voices with her fingers laced through Clint's. "You're such a worrywart."

"Don't even start, woman," he muttered. "I swear I'll spank your ass you ever scare me like that again."

"Mm," she purred. "Kinky." Turning her attention to the room, Nat took in the newcomer and hid her amazement behind an inquisitive arched brow.

Dressed in a blue and white plaid shirt and stonewashed jeans, the woman radiated a regal power, the likes of which Natasha had rarely seen. White hair shone with bits of the sea, and eyes like waves held curiosity and kindness.

"Stark, stop mothering me," Nat said as she glided closer.

"Stop getting into trouble and I will." 

She rolled her eyes when he peered at her over the edge of his glasses.

"Ah, this must be Natasha," the white-haired woman smiled. "Elegant and beautiful yet as dangerous as a riptide. Is that not how you described her, Arthur?"

"Mom!" the big man barked.

Natasha couldn't control her smirk as she strode past Curry, his sweater now exchanged for a tight black t-shirt and a leather vest - showing off an assortment of jewelry from necklaces to heavy silver rings - while a golden trident leaned against him. He hugged it like a child would a security blanket. "And you can only be Mrs. Curry." She threw Arthur a sarcastic smile. "Pity he didn't get your looks. Nice fork."

The woman burst out laughing. "I do like this one! Yes, very much."

"Gorgeous and excellent taste," Nat smiled and shook the offered hand. "Are you sure he's yours?"

"Hey now, Red. Don't say something you can't take back," Arthur grinned. "And it's not a fork."

Boys and their toys. She knew that would rub his scales the wrong way.

"Is that my sweater?" Steve asked, tugging her sleeve.

She wondered if he was purposely changing the subject and decided yes, he was. "You never wear it."

"I can't find it!"

Clint snickered. "The klepto takes clothes from all of us."

She blew Clint a kiss. "Maybe it's my love language?" 

"It's called _stealing_ ," he groused.

"And yet you still love me," she quipped, turning back to Arthur's mother. "Natasha."

"Atlanna. It's a pleasure to meet you." The woman shook her hand, then very quickly cupped Natasha's cheek. "Arthur said you were ill? Are you better? Is there anything we can do?"

Surprise made her blink before Nat touched Atlanna's hand. "I'm fine. But thank you."

"Good." She gently brushed Natasha's hair behind her ear, a motherly gesture so far outside her area of expertise it left Natasha shaken. "There are many remedies in the deep yet unknown to humans, so if your illness returns, call me."

"Perhaps we can return to the matter at hand?" Vision asked.

"Yes. Of course," Atlanna smiled at the android. "It has been many years since things of this nature were seen." She turned away and trailed her finger over a few of the artifacts on one of the many tables.

Clint deserted her to head for the coffee pot at the far side of the room, but Nat didn't remain alone for long. Heat warmed her back, his presence large and easily felt.

"What did I say about standing at my back?" she murmured, watching Atlanna flutter and gasp, lightly touching this and that while Stark and Rogers hovered.

"You didn't say you were that sick on the plane."

She looked up at him, taking in his slightly more kempt appearance. Someone must have offered him a room and a hairbrush. "Why would I?"

"Are you always this difficult?"

"Are you always that hairy?"

A slow smile spread his lips. "So, that's Clint, huh?"

"It is." She narrowed her eyes. "Why?"

"Competition doesn't look that impressive."

She arched a brow and held up her hand, index finger extended while holding Curry's gaze. "Barton? Toss me a bagel."

Clint grunted something unintelligible and chucked it over his shoulder without looking. The plain bagel landed on Nat's finger, a perfect ringer. 

"Not plain, you animal," she teased lightly and tossed it back. 

He plucked it from the air while stirring his coffee. "What kind, then?"

"Cinnamon raisin."

"There ain't none. There's chocolate chip."

"That works."

He picked it up, rolled it along his knuckles like a magician's coin, and snapped his hand back, all while chugging his first - or likely seventh - cup of coffee, never once looking her way.

It landed on her finger in the same manner as before, and Nat removed it to pick off a piece she could munch. "You shouldn't be so judgemental, Curry."

One bushy eyebrow rose, his smirk now smug. "Impressive aim."

She gave him a feral smile. "He's more than just a pretty face."

Amusement danced in those strange copper eyes. "Are you implying I'm just a pretty face?"

"Oh," she simpered and pouted. "I wasn't talking about you at all." Picking another bite from her bagel, Nat popped it between her lips before walking away to join the others.

She didn't get far when Arthur's arm snaked around her waist. His hand splayed over her belly, doing things to her body she'd rather not think about when he ducked his head down beside hers. Long, golden brown hair swung past her face, bringing salt brine and the smell of the ocean along with something distinctly masculine, a thick feral musk, rich and spicy; potent with hints of ozone like a storm on the horizon. "You play a dangerous game teasing me, woman."

"I don't play games, Curry." Those eyes were too close when she turned hers his way. "Touch me again without my permission, and I'll have your balls as payment."

He chuckled, deep and dark, and flexed his hand. "You're so tiny. I'd like to see you try."

"I've put you on your ass twice. Would you like me to embarrass you a third time?"

"You wouldn't be so mean as to do so in front of my mom, would you?"

"You've five seconds to remove your hand before I beat you with your fork."

"It's clear she likes you."

"Three seconds."

"I think you like her too."

"Irrelevant at this point. Two. One."

His hand lifted, but he didn't move away. "So prickly, Pterois. Stow your spines."

Nat arched a brow. "Is that some form of fishy insult?"

"Quite the opposite."

She wasn't sure she believed him but let it go. The others were back to the circle with the writing on it, and Nat brushed past Arthur to listen.

"Oh, my," Atlanna whispered, staring at the image in dismay. "You don't want to mess with that."

"Messing with it isn't the plan. Keeping Hydra from it is," Steve said.

"Staying away from it is your best bet," Curry grumbled.

"What is it?" Natasha asked.

"A weapon," Arthur mumbled.

"A curse," Atlanna countered. 

Stark frowned. "Which is it?"

Atlanna sighed and shook her head. "One could say both, I guess. I have not seen a word of it since I was a child taught our history. That, my friends, is what you would call Pandora's Box."

"You're shitting me?" Clint mumbled around a mouthful of bagel.

"I am not." All semblance of softness left her face. "It was brought to my people many years ago when wars ravaged the land dwellers and kingdoms around us. Atlantis was strong, our people uncontested, and Atlan had just received his trident." She glanced at Curry's fork. "The king accepted responsibility for the box, but what its previous keepers failed to explain was that it was a curse to watch over. It oozed evil, constantly making those around it wildly driven to open it. One attendant tried and perished as soon as he touched it."

"Why?" Vision asked.

"Because only a woman can open the box," Atlanna explained. "Such is the nature of its curse. By a woman was it first opened, by a woman must it always be opened. When Atlan realized the trouble it could and would bring, he had a chest created to hold the accursed thing, one that only his trident could open. Then it was sealed away in a place known only as ‘where the sea meets the sky.’”

“So is that a prophecy or a treasure map?” Tony asked, nodding toward the image. 

“A bit of both.” Atlanna fell silent for a moment, her eyes scanning the strange symbols. “When lake and salt, and sky and land come together hand and hand. When age is dark and time is new, together you must bring the two. With trident gold and courage strong, travel where the days are long. 

"Seek the river and the falls, that flow beneath the ocean blue: water drop and sand below, past illusion to vision true. Tines placed in a lock of black, release the curse from its rack, but caution to the ones unwise. This curse can cause your demise. For only when my heir is nigh, can the Deserter find where the sea touches the sky.”

“Then that settles it,” Curry smirked. “There are no Deserters left. There is no one to find where sea and sky meet.” 

“It is never that simple, Arthur. These things have a way of working out,” Atlanna warned. “When scrolls like that were inked, they were infused with the blood and the magic of the one who wrote them. As that is written by Atlan - who else would speak of the trident and his heir - it is a powerful prophecy." 

She turned and began searching through the artifacts spread out in the room.

"What are you looking for?" Natasha asked, a bit of trepidation beginning to thrum in her chest.

"The Deserters were some of Atlantis's greatest craftsmen and women. They built the chest which holds Pandora's Box and were gifted with powerful magics. If they knew their lake was drying out; they would have created something for the future. Something to fulfill Atlan's prophecy."

"Like what?" Curry asked, stepping closer.

"I don't know. Something." She was nearly frantic, picking and discarding until she froze and reached slowly for a long golden tube and made Natasha's heart pound. "This. This is it."

Those long, elegant hands skimmed over the strange symbols, Atlanna's breath coming in fast pants before she checked the end. "The seal is broken. It's already chosen."

"Chosen what?" Clint asked softly, staring not at Atlanna but Natasha. 

"A new royal."

"Mom? What are you talking about?" Curry asked.

Atlanna held out the tube. "They knew they were dying, so they created this. Infused with the blood and magic of their royal line, they left it to be found as their own Pandora's Box. The first female not of Atlantis to touch it would become the new royal line of the Deserters."

Spots danced in Nat's vision. "Shit."

"Yeah, shit!" Clint bellowed. "How many times have I got to tell you not to touch stuff?"

"Stow it, featherhead!" Nat snapped, everyone now staring at her. 

"Barton?" Steve asked.

He thrust both hands through his hair so clearly full of exasperation he was seconds away from pulling it out. "Guess what I found laying on the floor beside Nat when she passed out?" 

"I didn't know it was any sort of magical voodoo!" she growled.

"You?" Curry smirked.

She narrowed her eyes and curled her lips back as she spat, "Don't start, fish boy!"

"That's your majesty to you, sweetheart. You want to kneel and swear fealty now or later?"

"Arthur!" Atlanna gasped. 

A steel rod would bend before Natasha would kneel to that man. "Don't, Curry."

He grinned wider and moved closer. "Come on, honey. You're part of my people now."

"Arthur," Atlanna growled in warning.

Natasha didn't dignify that with an answer before storming out of the conference room.

Behind her, she could hear Clint warn Arthur, "Hey, buddy? I'd lay off the fealty thing if I were you."

Arthur only chuckled and followed her, like the fool he was. "Come on, Natasha. It was just a joke."

She stopped dead, aware when he almost ran her down, and spun on him, anger filling every cell in her body. "Do you think it's funny to force subservience on a woman?"

His eyes went wide with shock. "No, I-"

"It's all just one big joke to you." Cold and deadly serious, she stalked him back down the hallway. "Make the little woman bow before your non-existent might."

His eyes were huge, but he didn't bring his weapon to bear. "Red, that wasn't what I-" 

"Let me tell you something, _your majesty_. The day I bow to you is the day _hell_ freezes over! I didn't survive the Red Room, Russian KGB assholes, Hydra, and a Shield sanctioned assassination by being meek and bowing to men! I eat men like you for breakfast! I am Natalia Alianovna Romanova! The Black Widow. An Avenger. I've fought for everything I've ever earned, and no medieval Atlantis _bullshit_ is going to take it away from me!" 

She'd backed him into the wall, and he stood there with his hands up. "My apologies?"

"Hm." She turned on her heel and made four long strides before the spots dancing in her vision coalesced into giant blobs. 

Clint's voice came from a very great distance when her legs went out from under her.

***

"Nat!" Clint barked, catching her before she slammed into the ground. "Jesus Christ, Curry! What the fuck is your problem?"

"I was trying to apologize!" Arthur groused.

"By being a condescending prick?" Clint asked hurrying away at a run, taking Natasha with him.

"Ma'am?" The Captain glared at Arthur before turning to Atlanna. "Can you tell us what this is? Explain it to our medical people?"

She nodded and set her hand on Steve's arm before sliding past him to walk toward Arthur.

"Mom, I…"

Her scowl showed her disappointment. The slap she delivered to the back of his head only reinforced it. "Arthur, you idiot! What would your father say? How dare you treat Natasha like she's something to be owned! She owes you nothing. King of all the oceans or not, the Deserters have not been part of the realm for centuries. You cannot act like this. You're the king! Do better!"

"Yes, Atlanna." He knew better than to argue and knew better than to protest the public dressing down. He deserved it. What he'd said was unbecoming, but finding out she was not just human but something more like him had opened a door inside he'd closed ages ago. "I will apologize."

"You will do more than that." She framed his face with her hands and slipped into the Atlantean tongue. " _Traditionally, before they became Deserters, the Kings of Atlantis mixed blood with the Queens of her line."_

_"It's far too soon to say things like that, Mom."_ Not that he wasn't interested, but he'd just stuck his big fat foot in his mouth. 

"Excuse me?" They both looked at Vision. "I take it by your lack of concern Miss Romanoff will be alright?"

"Forgive me," Atlanna smiled. "Yes. She is simply changing. Her body is weary, and my _son_ did not help the situation. She needs rest, water with salt, and fresh fish- preferably of the southern waters variety." 

"I will inform medical." He left, swiftly phasing through the walls.

Atlanna turned a smile - and not a very pleasant one - on Arthur. "Actually, why don't _you_ go hunt a feast for Natasha?"

"Mom. We're in inland Maine."

"Oh, I'm sure if we ask nicely, seeing as how it's for Natasha, one of our new friends would be kind enough to take you to the coast and bring you back."

Stark and Rogers exchanged a look. "Barton's the best pilot."

"He may be inclined to drop Curry in the ocean and leave him there," Stark smirked.

"If the journey helps Nat in the long run, he'll do it. Just make sure he doesn't take his bow," Steve said.

"You get to tell him."

"Fine. You get to tell Natasha."

Stark's mouth dropped open. "That's dirty pool!"

"Why don't I go with them," Wanda offered. "Clint will - hopefully - behave if I'm there."

"Done! And if all else fails, you can keep him from killing Curry," Stark snickered. 

"I will speak with Natasha," Atlanna said softly. "This is a shock. Perhaps I can explain it better. Help her understand what it all means."

"I accept!" Stark crowed. 

"You all are so frightened of her," Arthur snickered. "She's tiny."

Everyone turned toward him, faces setting into lines of pity. 

"You'll learn," Steve murmured. "This? You just scraped her temper. This is hot anger. Hot anger is easy. It's the cold rage-"

"Steve." Wanda set her hand on his arm. "He deserves to learn on his own."

Red power flared in her eyes when she looked at him, and Arthur physically fought the desire to tighten his hand on his trident. She was powerful, the little woman, more so than he'd expected. "She's right. Forgive me, Captain. Stark. Miss Maximoff. I spoke with a fool's tongue and the brashness of an idiot youth. I was wrong and will apologize sincerely to Natasha as soon as possible." He gave them the half-bow of a King contrite.

Wanda smiled, slow and sweet. "I will show you to the hanger, Arthur."

He nodded his thanks and turned to follow her. It was going to be a long-ass day, he could tell, but the Atlantean in him - the feral creature - was suddenly very excited at the idea of a hunt to impress and provide for Natasha. He'd been extremely annoyed with human Arthur and his fool's tongue. 

The sudden interest made him nervous. His Atlantean side had never been this keen on Mera. Oh, he hadn't been disapproving, more indifferent, but now the feral beast had the feel of a hunting Great White, and Natasha wasn't prey he was willing to lose. 

Arthur closed his mind to the desires echoing through him and asked Wanda, "So how bad is this going to be?"

Her cheeks were pink, and she didn't look at him fully when she murmured, "It will not be picnic in park."

"They're close, huh?" he asked as casually as possible.

"He is her family. She is his. They love very deeply."

The Atlantean growled, and Arthur very nearly gave it voice.

Wanda stopped and turned those ancient eyes to his face before stepping closer and laying her hand on his arm. "I know what Natasha is about, and I have seen enough to know you are not bad man. I will help you, Arthur, because the future is… cloudy without it. Clint is important to her. Do not make him enemy. They love, but they are not in love. It is very big secret I tell you. I trust you to keep silent, da?" 

Arthur frowned but nodded agreement.

"Clint has wife and family. Natasha and he are not lovers, though she plays part to push you away."

He inhaled sharply. "Really?"

Wanda smiled. "Ah, much better." 

He didn't know what that meant, but the concern was gone from her face. He didn't pry because she'd shown herself an ally and wanted to keep her that way, but he did flick a lock of blood-red hair over her shoulder. "Thank you, _iti tuahine_."

"Is that Atlantean?" she asked.

"Maori, actually. The language of my father's people. It means 'little sister.'"

She blushed, but he could tell it was in pleasure. "No one has called me sister since-" Her breath hitched.

Pleasure became sorrow and Arthur cupped her cheek. "I'm sorry for your loss." He didn't know how or when, but he did know loss when he saw it.

She blinked back tears. "My brother. My twin."

His heart ached for her. "Then I am doubly sorry for your pain. I will not use it if it hurts you."

"It was surprise only. It is bittersweet, but I do not mind." Her hand brushed over his, catching the edge of his trident. She jerked it away when sparks erupted.

Arthur swapped the trident to his other hand. "Sorry. It's temperamental. It only responds to me."

"Yet your mother handled it without fear?" she asked, peering curiously at his trident.

"She's my mom. It knows she would never try to use it against me. When I need to leave it behind, I always take it to her. For others, it voices its disapproval. Loudly," he chuckled.

"Hm. Mjolnir just refuses to be lifted. Does it have name like Thor's hammer?" she asked as they continued through the compound.

He shook his head. "It's always been known as Atlan's Trident."

She glanced at him. "It belongs to Atlan no more."

He snickered and smiled at her. "Renaming it Arthur's Trident makes me a self-important asshole."

Wanda burst out laughing. "Perhaps you should think about it."

"Maybe I will," he murmured, gazing at the tines gleaming in the fluorescent lighting. "Maybe, I will."

 


End file.
